Thoughts from a Paradoxical Dreamer

     Ok, maybe this blog is too crazy and confusing but what else does an aspiring author do? All of my life I've been told that I have a way to write to the soul. I find a way to go to the heart 💗of an issue and uproot it encasing this observation in imagery🖌 and passion. I've been told by everyone who reads my work that I am a good writer, but I just don't know how to break through pleasantries, essays, journals,📓 and poems and get to the stage of corporate, published, and legible. In essence, my greatest desire😍. I write frequently I introduce myself and say that I love to write.🖉 Writing is how I can break through molds ✊and express my understanding of life that I've kept hidden for so long. There are those certain people I tell but that doesn't change anything.      I'm still a paradox and an anomaly and I can't help but love it.  I love💗 being me so why does the average person I meet treat it like it's a bad thing? Sorry, if this is a pathe...

Note: A loon is a crazy person.   “Flick! Fffff,” The soft encouraging sound to move on, to keep going, to shine brightly. The crazy loon carefully coaxed the soft and soothing hope toward his little tea candle🕯. The hope bit back a bit at his calloused hand, eating away bit by bit of the wooden stick that held it close as the loon brought his hope to the candle.🕯 “One day.” He told himself glancing at the lovely little silver disk. “One day.” The loon uncovered the dark, pitch-black curtain and looked out into his dark, pitch-black world,🗺 holding tightly to his wooden stick with the red reactor at the tip and carefully placing the silver disk in front of the window. As he did every night, the loon threw open his window and placed the open sign in front of his door, put things away, and got ready for a party. But, just as expected, no one came. No one ever came and the candle would dwindle into nothing but a pile of wax. A burnt-out wick in an equally burnt out world and ...

 There were three little lambs, one, two, three   All on different farms in the county   One was green,🟢 another blue, 🔵the last one was polka-dotted, why? No one knew.   One was a girl, boys the first two,   But I’m sorry to say no one wanted little Blue.   The farmer looked at his blue lamb🐑 and noticed instantly,   Only three little legs and a nub where the fourth should be   And you know besides that, he was kind of daft   And banged on a couple of rocks, and this poor lamb had a love for chewing socks.🧦   One day the farmer cried out “this lamb won’t do for me!”   And he took the lamb and shot him down,🔫 now there’s only two lambs of the three.🐑🐑   The second little lamb had a happy life, nice as a green lamb could be   The painters🖌 cared for him until they heard of a tragedy   Green had been shipped on a large wooden crate and getting him had been a mi...